


Locked Inside Your Head

by Lookafterlou1234



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: F/M, M/M, let's wait for Christmas 2015 and cry together shall we
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2020458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lookafterlou1234/pseuds/Lookafterlou1234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sherlock, I know you're just being stubborn with me now. You're just toying with me, like you've always taken a sadistic pleasure in doing. But Christ, could you lay off? Because you do know me. All these memories are just locked in your head, in that mind palace of yours. And you just won't let them out."</p>
<p>Or the one where Sherlock falls into a coma, leaving John unsure of their future together and of the past they shared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this idea just kinda happened and I ran with it XD it's loosely based off two movies starring Rachel McAdams, The Notebook and The Vow. And she funnily enough also plays Irene Adler in a different Sherlock Holmes universe. Tell me what you think and if I should continue! :D

A blinding flash, a single instant of pain, and then drifting, unattached to anything as if on a cloud.

That was all it took for Sherlock Holmes to fall into a coma.

John Watson didn't remember much of that car accident they were in, except that they were in a standard London taxi, with a standard London driver (no homicidal maniacs this time, thanks very much) They'd been slammed into by some passing lorry. John and the cabbie had escaped relatively unscathed; the driver with nothing at all and John with a mere scratch across his forehead. But Sherlock's side of the vehicle had been rammed by the truck, and he flown through the windshield, skidding across the pavement and sustaining serious injuries to his head.

John sat in the hospital bed, listing the facts of the crash in his mind. If he focused too much on the real severity of the current situation, then he might just go totally insane. Being a doctor, John knew that Sherlock's body had shut down to preserve his systems, and that meant he was in perilous condition. Which was fucking horrible, really.

John leaned over to hospital bed and grabbed Sherlock's hand, gripping it tight. Sure, it was all hooked up to IVs and machines and his skin was nearly translucent, but it was still his hand and John decided to focus his gaze on it. That was infinitely easier than looking at his bruised and battered face, anyway.

"So, erm..." John started, his voice weak. "Sherlock, I will be thoroughly pissed off at you if you don't wake up out of this coma soon. The doctors here say you may never wake up, or if you do, you may never be the same. Because apparently that's what most people do. But I don't believe that. Truly I don't. Because you, Sherlock, are not most people. You're like...a hybrid of monster and man, beauty and beast, and probably some other awful metaphor I can't think of right now. "

John paused to gulp back a breath, feeling tears prick his eyes. He suddenly felt angry, rage at what had happened coursing through his body.

"But seriously, Sherlock! All the crazy, stupid misadventures you've gone on, and you get taken out by a car accident? You survived jumping off a bloody building and getting shot by my wife, for Christ's sake! The Sherlock I know wouldn't let himself die like this. So just wake up, would you?"

There was no response from the comatose consulting detective and John cursed vehemently under his breath. What a fucking bastard.

 

 

John jumped as the surgeon, Dr. Doyle, entered the hospital room, rapping his knuckles lightly on the door. He walked over to John and gave a small, tight smile, putting a conciliatory hand on his shoulder.

"How are you holding up, Mr. Watson?" he asked quietly.

"Fine." John said quickly. Too quickly. The doctor squeezed his shoulder and John shifted out of his grip.

"Sherlock appears to be in a more stable condition. His color is getting better, which is good."

"But he's still be in a coma for four days and hasn't moved a millimeter." John replied testily, not in the mood to be given any slight hope.

"Yes." Dr. Doyle said. "My advice, John, would be to surround Sherlock with things he likes, and maybe that would have some effect on him? There's been cases of musicians in comas stirring when their favorite piece of music was played, so I think we should try this approach with Mr. Holmes."

John gave a short laugh full of bitterness, shaking his head.

"You don't know this man, Doctor. He doesn't like things, except maybe mass murders and assassins and illegal drugs. None of which can be procured here."

They fell into silence, the doctor glancing down at his clipboard and flipping through the pages.

"He likes you, doesn't he?" Dr. Doyle said as he headed back toward the door. "And I know that you two have had a pretty turbulent story so far, and as the years pass it just gets more and more turbulent. So why don't you pull out that laptop of yours and read some of those blog posts aloud?"

"You know about my blog?" John said in surprise, his eyebrows rising.

"Mr. Watson, I nearly pissed myself from excitement when I saw who was on my chart. I've been an avid fan for years."

John nodded and Dr. Doyle gave another smile and then left. The army doctor dragged his hands down his face. He glanced at the wedding band on his ring finger and gave a small smile.

"Things have definitely gotten more turbulent in the past few years, eh Sherlock?" he said quietly. "I bet that fan of our's didn't know that we secretly got married though. We managed to keep that one hush-hush, at least."

As John sat there, the memories of the past year and a half washed over him. He'd gone from a married man and expectant father, to devastated widower, and then back to married man (However, this time to another man) He often wondered how all of that came about. Maybe it was time to remind himself of it. He had a written record and everything.

John reached into his bag and withdrew his laptop, booting it up. He typed in his blog name in the search bar and clicked on the waiting link. Sifting through the many files, he wondered where was a good place to start.

_"A Study in Pink, a Scandal in Belgravia, The Sign of Three_.." John mumbled under his breath as he searched. Finally he found what he was looking for, the file directly after _His Last Vow_.

_The Valley of Fear_. Now that was when things really got interesting.

John took a deep breath and began to read, desperately hoping that their love story would bring Sherlock Holmes back to him.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey :D So here's chapter two! I hope you like it, and tell me if you want more. Also, let me know if the paragraph at the end makes sense, because I wasn't entirely sure. (Also, I don't know much about childbirth and it probably shows XD)

_The Valley of Tears_

Mary Watson's contractions started at 3:35 A.M. on January 28th.  She'd been sleeping terribly all night long, restless and agitated. Around 2:00, she started pacing the length of the bedroom floor,up and down. John, bless him, was wide awake with her, walking the room as she did. And then finally, the pain surged and intensified, and Mary and John both knew she was fully dilated.

"Okay, Mary," John said, trying to sound reassuring as he put an arm around his wife's shoulder, "Let's go."

They hobbled down the stairs and to the front door of the flat. John grabbed the door handle and swung it open.

Only to reveal a Mr. Sherlock Holmes, his hand raised in the air as if ready to rap against the door. He looked down at John, a faint smile on his lips.

"Ah, right on schedule I see." Sherlock said, stepping aside so Mary and John could walk through the door. "I've called a taxi already, it's waiting on the street behind us. Shall we?"

The couple stared at Sherlock in amazement, John blinking rapidly in shock. Mary gripped John's hand as an extremely painful contraction hit her. Sherlock took her other arm and they moved forward.

"How-could you possibly-know-" Mary huffed out as they went toward the taxi. Sherlock pulled the door open and Mary eased herself inside, her hands cradling her stomach.

"I calculated that the average size of your fetus versus the average size of Mary's frame would mean that the baby would be ready to birth by this time of the night. Also, considering that you are a week and a half overdue, I figured it would happen soon, so I've been outside your house every night for the past few days." Sherlock replied as he and John got into the seats opposite her.

"You're mad, do you realize this?" John said, his eyes wide. Mary nodded her agreement and then threw her head back, gritting her teeth in pain. Sher grabbed Sherlock and John's spare hands and squeezed them so tightly that their fingers turned purple.

"Are you ready to give birth, Mrs. Watson?" Sherlock said.

"I'm ready to not look like a beachball anymore, yeah."

 

Their taxi sped through the nightime streets of London, finally getting to St. Bart's Hospital. Mary was hurried inside and brought to a delivery room where her Obgyn was waiting. John and Sherlock walked to the door and John slipped in, but Sherlock was stopped by a nurse.

"You're not family, are you?" she asked, her eyes tired. Sherlock shook his head and she nodded. "Well, sir I'm sorry but you'll have to go to the waiting room."

Sherlock sighed deeply but then stepped back. John looked at him, his face a mixture of terror and excitement. All he had to say was "Sherlock-" and his best friend was reaching over to him, gripping his shoulder tightly.

"She'll be fine, John, I promise." he said quietly. "And I know everything, so you really shouldn't worry."

And with that, John was bundled into the delivery room and the door shut, leaving Sherlock standing out in the hallway. He went to the waiting room and paced back and forth across it, his hands behind his back. Any second now, a third Watson was coming into the world. He'd vowed at John and Mary's wedding that he'd always be there for this baby, and that was a vow Sherlock never intended to break.

Hours passed as Sherlock waited, watching the hands of the clock go around and around. He drank rubbish cups of coffee, which was ridiculous because Sherlock didn't even like coffee. He read magazines and scoffed at celebritiies' humdrum lives. He even found an old newspaper with a picture of John and himself, probably from when they'd first met. He looked down at it, a small smile creeping across his face. They'd both been so different back then, and yet somehow Sherlock didn't feel changed at all. With careful fingers, Sherlock tore the photograph out of the paper and folded it in half, slipping it into one of the many pockets of his infamous coat.

Sherlock tried to distract himself with other things. He thought about what had brought him back to England four minutes into his exile. However, "Moriarty" or whoever it was hadn't been heard of since that nation-wide broadcast of the assassin's face, so Sherlock couldn't even deduct about that. This was agonizing. He wanted to get some cigarettes or drugs or a case or something to break up this monotony, but he figured that wouldn't be the wisest thing in his current situation.

 

And at last, at 6:05 A.M. on January 28th, a beautiful little girl entered the world. John came running out of the delivery room and sprinted toward Sherlock, a huge beam on his face. He grabbed the detective by his elbows and they spun around.

"They're all right. They're perfectly allright, Sherlock." he said joyously. "Both mother and baby are healthy and safe and-"

With this, he flung his arms around Sherlock, hugging him tightly. Sherlock patted his back in return, not entirely sure what to do. (Emotions had never been and never would be Sherlock Holmes' area of expertise.)

"Come on then." John said as they let go, starting to walk back.

"Where?" Sherlock asked quizzically.

"To see her, of course."

The two men walked into the delivery room together, John still smiling ecstatically and Sherlock with nerves fluttering in his stomach. What would he do if they handed him the baby? He'd probably drop it or hurt it or it would hate him or-

"Sherlock, hello." Mary said, her face pale and wan but so, so happy. The baby was clasped in her arms, snuggling into her chest. She was a little pink bundle, with a tiny hat on her head. Sherlock felt even more nervous as he saw how small the baby was.

"Not a beachball anymore then." Sherlock said with a strained laugh.

"No." Mary replied with a smile. "Not through lack of trying though."

"Yes, I'm pretty sure everyone in this entire hospital heard Mary's cursing." John said proudly, looking down at his wife and child adoringly. Sherlock nodded and Mary shifted the baby in her arms.

"Would you like to hold her, Sherlock?" Mary asked. But he wasn't give time to deny this, because the baby was already being placed into his arms. Sherlock stiffened as the baby turned into his chest, rubbing her face aganst it. The consulting detective loosened his grip a bit so he didn't hurt her, feeling a funny lump in his throat.

"Hello there." Sherlock said softly. "I've waited a long time to meet you, you know. I knew about you before even your parents did, so technically I've waited the longest."

Sherlock looked up at John and Mary, asking,

"What did you name her?"

John and Mary chuckled a little, the woman reaching up to pat her husband's hand on her shoulder.

"Well, we all know that Sherlock really isn't a girl's name," Mary started,

"But Shirley is." John finished with a smile in the detective's direction.

"Shirley Watson." Sherlock said in disbelief. He swallowed hard, feeling tears in his eyes. "You are going to be wonderful."

 

**_***_ **

**_He was drowning, his arms fand legs lailing in a attempt to move himself. He needed to get out, get to the surface were he could breathe. Where he could remember. Distantly he could hear a voice. A voice that meant warmth and home and loyalty and love. He tried to follow it, to listen to the sound and figure out a way back._ **

**_He remembered feeling happier than he ever had in his life, and holding a new life in his hands, bursting with potential. He remembered not knowing whether he was capable of the task he'd laid himself but knowing he'd still do it, no matter what._ **

**_But he couldn't get out. He couldn't find his way back. Not quite yet._ **


End file.
